


Meaning It More

by luxover



Series: The Distance Between Two Bodies [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxover/pseuds/luxover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then that’s it, summer’s over, and when they say goodbye to each other, Villa opens his mouth to tell him again. Only, instead of <i>I love you,</i> he says, “Go be tremendous and win me the Premiership.”</p><p>Silva just smiles like he’s laughing, says, “A title for a title, Guaje,” and Villa lets him board his plane, doesn’t say any of the things he told himself he’d say all summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meaning It More

**Author's Note:**

> Coda to "The Distance Between Two Bodies," where Villa says "I love you" for the second time, as requested by [applebacardi](http://applebacardi.livejournal.com/) over at a [prompt post on LJ](http://luxover.livejournal.com/26577.html)

Villa still doesn’t say it often; Villa doesn’t say it at all, actually, just that once in the car on the way to the airport and that’s it. But that’s enough, enough for Silva and enough for him, because they both understand that saying it more isn’t the same as meaning it more, and Villa means it, as much as he’s ever meant anything in his life.

The two of them spend that summer together, their time split between Tuilla and Gran Canaria, spending a week in Sevilla with Alexis. It’s nice, everything Villa has missed, and sometimes he finds himself looking at Silva, at how the sun turns his cheeks pink and the curve of his mouth as he smiles, and Villa thinks, _How the fuck did I wind up with all of this?_ Because he still can’t believe it, that Silva would choose to be with an asshole like him.

And then that’s it, summer’s over, and when they say goodbye to each other, Villa opens his mouth to tell him again. Only, instead of _I love you,_ he says, “Go be tremendous and win me the Premiership.”

Silva just smiles like he’s laughing, says, “A title for a title, Guaje,” and Villa lets him board his plane, doesn’t say any of the things he told himself he’d say all summer.

When they see each other a few weeks later for national call-ups, Villa’s not even thinking about what a shitty excuse for a boyfriend he is, because Silva’s there with him and the two of them are rooming together, and anything else can come later. 

The team practices together—first thing’s first, right away—and even though Villa just wants to rush back to their room, he follows Silva’s lead, takes a shower and then talks in the hotel lobby with Raul and Puyi for a while. It annoys Villa, all these people taking up their time, because Villa’s missed Silva’s body, and the two of them are so close now; he can still get Silva’s thoughts over Skype, his laugh and his yawns and things he has to say, but Villa can’t touch Silva’s body when there’s so much space between them, and he’s missed Silva’s skin. 

The elevator ride up is torture, and the walk down the hall to their room is no better, but once it’s just the two of them in their room, Villa’s agitation and his rapid heartbeat seem to even out. He looks at Silva, at the way his hair sticks up in the back and at how his chest moves as he breathes, and for a split second, Villa wonders how different everything would be if Valencia had let the two of them go to Manchester City together a few years ago, if things would be any better or any easier.

“What?” Silva asks, and he’s looking right back at Villa, a small smile on his face.

“Nothing,” Villa says, and that just makes Silva smile wider.

“Nothing?” he asks, and he steps towards Villa, backs Villa up against the empty hotel dresser with his hands bracketing Villa’s hips.

“Actually,” Villa says, “I could think of a few things,” and it’s fucking embarrassing, the way Silva makes him act, the way Silva makes him feel, but at the end of the say, it’s just Silva, and so Villa lets it slide.

“You’re so easy,” Silva says, leaning in to kiss Villa, and the only reason Villa doesn’t say anything back is because it’s true, he’s so fucking easy for Silva.

Villa bites at Silva’s lips, just on the right side of too hard, and slips his hands up underneath Silva’s shirt and over his still damp skin. He kisses up the side of Silva’s neck, scrapes his teeth over Silva’s jawline, and even though he wants to suck a bruise onto Silva’s pulse point, he doesn’t, because that’s not something they do. And so instead, Villa stretches out the collar of Silva’s tee and leaves two twin marks on his left collarbone. 

Villa pulls Silva closer and then pulls back, just enough to ask, “You want me to blow you?”

“Want you to fuck me,” Silva says, and his lips are red, his eyes wide.

“Shit,” Villa says, because it hasn’t gotten old, not even after all this time. “Yeah, I—yeah, okay.”

Silva wraps the fingers of one hand around Villa’s wrists and pulls him back towards the bed, and when they’re there, he lets go, quickly takes off his own shirt and undoes the button on the front of his jeans.

“What?” Villa asks, because he’s a dick. “No show?”

Silva just laughs a little bit under his breath and says, “I’m saving that for when I can’t touch you.”

And that—the thought of Silva stripping for him over Skype—Villa’s brain stutters and he forgets what he’s doing for a second. He says, “What.”

Silva laughs for real this time, loud and light, and he says, “Come on, Guaje, it’s not like that’s anything new.”

And it’s not, so Villa doesn’t respond to that, just takes off his shirt, tugs down his own jeans and kicks them to the side. He then backs Silva up towards the bed, pushes Silva’s pants over his hips just far enough so that he can wrap his hand around Silva’s cock and stroke him once, twice, three times.

Silva’s fingers scramble over Villa’s back, and he hopes Silva leaves behind marks.

They fuck, and it’s not like how it usually is with them, not rough or playful or anything like that. Instead, it’s slow, chest to chest, and they touch each other everywhere, Villa’s face pulled back far enough so that he can look at Silva the whole time because it’ll be weeks until they get to do it again. Villa thinks abstractly about all the other people he’s fucked, and he wonders what the hell he was thinking.

When Silva gets close, he tugs on the hair at the nape of Villa’s neck and pulls Villa’s hips flush against his with his legs around Villa’s waist. Villa’s close to coming, too, and just being there, inside of Silva and with Silva looking at him like he means everything, Villa almost can’t even breathe.

“You’re always new to me,” he says, and it doesn’t even make fucking sense, not really, and that thread of conversation died out ages ago, but Silva smiles so brilliantly that Villa doesn’t bother to figure out what he actually means by it. And then, because he’s not thinking he _should_ say it, he says, “I fucking love you.”

“ _Villa,_ ” Silva says, and Villa comes hard enough that his toes curl.


End file.
